


Nemesis Mine

by nikkiscarlet



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Consensual Non-Consent, Crowley Has Two Penises (Good Omens), Cum Inflation, Cum Play, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Knotting, M/M, Monster Crowley (Good Omens), Naga Crowley (Good Omens), Oviposition, Plugging, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Public Sex, Punishment, collaring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkiscarlet/pseuds/nikkiscarlet
Summary: For the Kinky Kissmas exchange.Prompt: Heaven knows Aziraphale has recently lost his virginity (though not to whom). So to punish him, they arrange for him to have sex with a demon. Crowley can’t prevent it, but he can be the demon that does the deed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 152
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads, Good Omens - Kinky Kissmas Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SparkleInTheStars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleInTheStars/gifts).



He remembered the slide of elegant hands up his thighs and over his hips, and long fingers just barely grazing his sex even as he lifted his pelvis eagerly to meet them. 

He remembered a forehead pressed to his, a warm chest against his fingers, and hearing the yearning hitch of breath that only pulled him ever further into inescapable depths of love. 

Soft touches and gentle kisses turning to possessive gropes and perfect, bruising bites. The glint of a rakish smirk, the blaze of golden eyes, and the warmth and weight of a slender yet solid body that craved every inch and atom of him. Heights of ecstasy he ’d never known existed. Bliss. Joy. Deepest contentment and the glorious treasure of a smile that was only for him. Hours afterward spent entangled in long limbs, being held and stroked and feeling utterly whole.

All of it burst across his heart within a fraction of a second before he stuffed those treasured memories back into the lockbox of his soul, lest anyone suss them out.

“M-my virginity?” he repeated weakly, mouth dry.

“Do you deny it?” The Archangel Gabriel folded his hands and blinked at him expectantly with imperial amethyst eyes.

Aziraphale knew to tread carefully with that question. If he was being accused at all, they likely had evidence of some kind. To deny it would only add the charge of deception to his list of transgressions.

He offered a tiny attempt at a polite and disarming smile.  “W-well, mostly I’m . . . confused as to how such a concept even applies. After all, we’re angels. We don’t reproduce. Virginity is . . . well, it’s for  _ them _ , isn ’t it?” He gestured toward the window, and slightly downward. Humanity, after all, needed to keep their libidos in check for a whole host of reasons: family planning, disease prevention, reducing unnecessary interpersonal drama, just to name a few. Encouraging them to maintain their virginity until they’d entered the safe bonds of marriage (or at least a long-term commitment of some kind) made sense, he’d always supposed, even if he’d never personally been overly draconian on the subject, himself. To him it seemed more a recommendation than a rule.

Gabriel didn ’t look particularly impressed. “Yes, Aziraphale, Virginity is for them,” he agreed. “As is sexual congress as a whole. I’m sure you recall the Nephilim incident.”

Aziraphale shifted a little from foot to foot. There wasn ’t an angel in all Heaven who  _ didn _ _ ’t _ remember the Nephilim incident.

Gabriel apparently took Aziraphale ’s uncomfortable silence as an answer. “Our angelic bodies are not naturally equipped for breeding, but somewhere along the way, someone learned how to  _ make _ it possible through deep study of Earthly templates. This is how the Grigori were able to do the damage that they did. No one ’s quite sure who it was that originally gave them that information, of course, but suffice it to say, the knowledge is out there. Now, it doesn’t surprise me that  _ you _ _ ’ve _ acquired this knowledge, Aziraphale, given the nature of your work. But until now we had no reason to believe you had any interest in putting it to use. ”

“W-what is your reason for believing it now?” Aziraphale timidly inquired.

“You pinged.”

“ . . . I’m sorry?”

Gabriel made a small flashing gesture with his fingers, and sang out a little  “Ping!” Then he chuckled, mirthlessly, and elaborated. 

“Yes, I remember now — you were on Ark duty and missed everything going on in Heaven at the time. Well, let me fill you in. After we cleaned up the Nephilim mess, it was decided that a method would need to be put in place to ensure that no other angels would try something like that again. Now angels, like humans, ‘ping’ if they achieve orgasm at the hands of another being. Since rooting out and disciplining the first wave of angels after The Incident, we haven’t had a single angel light up the board in . . . millennia. Until last night.”

Dread rapidly flooded Aziraphale ’s heart. Of course he’d been aware that humans were monitored for such things, but it’d never occurred to him that angels were, as well. He silently berated himself for  _ not _ assuming it.

“I see,” was all he could think to say through the building cacophony in his mind.

Gabriel nodded.  “So you don’t deny it, then.”

The edges of Aziraphale ’s vision were growing cloudy. He thought he might faint, or flee, or cry. But instead he remained upright, stoic, and spoke softly, gazing down at his shoes with his hands folded in front of him. 

“I suppose I can’t.”

Another sigh from Gabriel.  “We’re disappointed, Aziraphale.”

“I understand.” His voice came out dully. His mind was preoccupied with visions of red hair and slit-pupiled eyes and swords and holy water. Was it already too late?

“We’d thought better of your affection for the humans. Admittedly we always did think it was a little . . . excessive. But I’d always defended it. I told everyone that it came from a holy place — a sense of stewardship. Not one of selfishness and carnality. Apparently I was wrong. Now, thankfully, your union didn’t also ping the conception board. Otherwise we would have had to hunt down the human in question and . . . take care of things.”

Aziraphale blinked. Human? 

“I-it wouldn’t have resulted in conception,” he found himself saying, before he could stop it. “ _Couldn_ _’t_ have. I-I was wearing a phallus at the time, and so was— I mean— y-you don’t . . . _know?_ ” He immediately regretted asking the question, but managed not to cringe too openly.

Gabriel looked mildly revulsed.  “We do afford the humans some privacy,” he told him, as if it should have been evident. “And our own people even more, obviously.”

“ . . . Obviously,” Aziraphale echoed, distracted.

“We know what you’ve been up to, but we didn’t exactly watch the proceedings. So the person you were with wasn’t capable of incubation, then?”

“N-not without . . . miraculous intervention,” Aziraphale said, technically telling the truth.

“Hm.” Gabriel thought on it. “I suppose that’s something.” Then he redoubled his stern frown. “But policy is policy. Rules are rules, and they’re in place for a reason. You still took advantage of a lesser being for selfish and perverse ends, Aziraphale. For this, you _will_ face disciplinary measures.”

Aziraphale ’s mind was flying in all directions. On the one hand, he was almost giddy with relief that they apparently had no idea who it was he’d been with. On the other hand, now he was being accused of something not only completely untrue, but absolutely abhorrent. And on the further hand, he couldn’t correct their assumption without making things infinitely worse.

“I understand,” he said again. “It was a moment of . . . of weakness on my part. Unbecoming of an angel.” 

It felt like a fist was slowly closing around his heart, but there was nothing else he could think to do. Any path he could take to saving his own skin would only draw attention to the person he ’d done the deed with, and he wouldn’t — couldn’t — do that. If he could keep the focus and blame on himself, they would dismiss his partner as inconsequential. It was the only way.

He took a steadying breath, nodded, and in spite of a quivering lip declared,  “I accept my fate.”

Gabriel was unmoved. 

“It wouldn’t particularly matter if you didn’t, but thank you anyway.” 

The Archangel gestured toward an alcove not far from where they were standing. 

“Please come with me.”

Aziraphale followed him in silence. When they reached the alcove, a portal swirled into existence, and they stepped through. From there they crossed a long glass bridge, stretching high above and across the glorious landscape of Creation. Aziraphale could barely take in the familiar and beautiful sights, as his mind was too busy playing out the various scenarios involving their final destination. 

His crime had been a first offense, and one which appeared to entail very little consequence to Heaven or the Great Plan. As such, destruction seemed unlikely  — unless his boss happened to be feeling particularly ill-humoured that day. The odds that this was the end for Aziraphale were not zero, but fairly low.

Gabriel ’s manner gave him absolutely nothing to work with. He appeared neither grim nor chipper. Unreadable. He was simply a very important angel performing his duty and taking it seriously.

The fact that he  _ was _ being led somewhere indicated that the punishment required a specific location in order to be performed. This likely meant something either ceremonial or physical. Or both. Likely both. They remained very high up, even by Heavenly standards, which had Aziraphale feeling increasingly convinced that his fate would be a Fall. Perhaps a Push. Or perhaps simply, as human seafarers of yesteryear had once colourfully put it, a strong encouragement to  “take a long walk off a short pier.” Yes, that was more likely. He would be asked to Jump, possibly from a far rooftop or ledge. 

Crowley had assured him many times over the centuries that Hell wasn ’t so bad once you got used to it. Perhaps he was about to find out for himself. And perhaps it  _ wouldn _ _ ’t _ be so bad, knowing Crowley would find him there in the end. He ’d have a friend there, which was technically a point in Hell’s favour over Heaven.

He just wasn ’t sure about everything else it entailed. Aziraphale was dearly attached to his identity as an angel. He loved his work, even if he wasn’t always so sure about some of the executive decisions he was expected to support. He’d only had occasional, brief tastes of demonic work before, through his Arrangement with Crowley, and he could barely stomach even that. 

As the building on the other side of the bridge came into view through the clouds, however, he noted that its design, with a beautiful, slender spire and few, small windows, seemed ill suited for launching angels into abysses. Besides, Hell ’s reception area was in the lowest levels of the building they’d just left. The likelihood of a Fall didn’t disappear, but it diminished somewhat in his mind.

Still, even if he wouldn ’t be a Fallen Angel, he might still find himself a Demoted Angel. What if trifling with humans, as they were assuming he’d done, meant he’d no longer be permitted access to them? What if this building was home to his new office, and he would no longer be allowed to visit Earth? He’d never get to go back to his books, or taste another lovingly-prepared meal, or see Crowley again. The thought broke his heart, but he supposed it was preferable to some other alternatives.

They reached the other side of the bridge, and with a gesture Gabriel opened the wall in front of them into the interior of the building. After a short and uneventful walk through a narrow corridor, they entered a lift.

From the feel of it, they were headed downward. This briefly had Aziraphale back to believing that a Fall was his fate. Perhaps Falls were less dramatic these days. He hadn ’t actually seen one since the War in Heaven, so he wasn’t sure. Perhaps he would simply be escorted down there and left to fend for himself, like an abandoned dog. 

But the ride was a relatively short one, and the doors opened on another clean, sterile, if slightly less brightly-lit corridor. From there he was led to a large and equally clean, sterile, middlingly-lit room.

All four sides of the room were filled with row after row of seats, descending downward toward a sort of stage in the centre, encased on all sides with clear glass. The overall space was large enough to fit at least a few hundred angels, but small enough that even those sitting in the back rows would be able to see whatever was happening in the glass box with a fair amount of detail. It reminded him somewhat of operating or anatomical theatres he ’d visited in the past. There was even a bed-like structure in the middle of the central box: a rectangular slab with thin, white fabric draped overtop of it.

They weren ’t about to vivisect him, were they? That struck him as a strange choice in punishment. But cruel and unusual punishment certainly wasn’t unheard-of where angelic crimes were concerned. Perhaps they felt some form of angelic lobotomy was in order. His fidgeting hands trembled as Gabriel led him down one of the aisles and opened the nearly-invisible door to the inside of the glass box.

“Step inside,” he ordered in a curt and efficient tone, and Aziraphale obeyed. Gabriel didn’t follow him in. Once he was inside the glass box, Gabriel closed the door behind him, and it disappeared entirely. Then Gabriel disappeared. Or rather, he walked back up the aisle and out of the room.

For a stretch of time he ended up losing track of, Aziraphale was left completely alone. 

When he did hear movement in the outer room again, he looked up to see several angels filing in. Then more, through a different door. Slowly, the room filled up with more and more angels, each politely taking a seat in a vacant chair and waiting, as Aziraphale did, for whatever was about to happen. Scanning their faces, some were blithely indifferent, while others appeared to be in a state of mild confusion, studying him as he studied them. They didn ’t appear to know why they were there any more than he did. They were simply doing as they were told.

There were some, however, who had the barest curl of a cruel smile tugging at their lips. Many of them were angels he knew.

Gabriel ’s voice echoed in the rafters, projected from parts unknown.

“Angels, your attention please. If you have not yet directed your gaze to the centre stage, please do so now.”

All eyes fell on Aziraphale.

“Today we are forced to make an example of one of our own. The Principality Aziraphale has befouled his station, his very being, and the name of Heaven through depraved, debaucherous carnal acts with a human.”

There were a few gasps in the room, and somewhere even a surprised giggle. Aziraphale felt his cheeks burn.

“In order to spare him and others like him the fate of the Fallen, we have chosen a more merciful path. One of education, for him, and for all of you. Today, you will learn what befalls an angel who takes their pleasure in _disgusting_ and _deplorable_ ways, rather than from the glory of God and the satisfaction of doing good work. You are all encouraged to preserve your sacred virginity — to treasure it, as a gift, for we as angels are above the bestial needs and desires of humanity. To reject that gift is to question your place in the universe, and sully your holiness. The embrace of Our Lord, as you will see, is far superior to the embrace of . . . baser urges.”

A door opened again. A short, slender, blonde angel with a blankly dutiful expression stepped through the door. Following behind her was a taller being, who Aziraphale recognised immediately, with a start. She led him down to Aziraphale ’s glass cell, and every other eye in the room followed them there.

Aziraphale was fairly certain he should be horrified, but first he had to find his way through his profound and morbid curiosity. 

_ Why is he here? If my crime is sex with a human, then why is  _ _**he** _ _ here?? _

The door to the cell was called into existence by the touch of the blonde angel ’s hand, and opened to admit their dark-clad guest. He wore nothing over his eyes, which were fully yellow save for the abyssal black slits of his pupils. When he was fully inside with Aziraphale, the door disappeared behind him.

“Crowley?” The name escaped his lips before he even realised he’d thought it.

A wicked and pitiless grin carved its way across Crowley ’s handsome face.

“Aziraphale,” he greeted. “Oh, this should be fun.”


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley was the picture of surliness when he reported in to the office that morning. Every bit of him put across the image of an absolutely miserable bastard. Sour, dour, outright snarling at anyone who came within three feet of him.

In actuality, Crowley was in a great mood. Wonderful, even. Happiest he ’d been for . . . well, as far back as he could readily recall, anyway. But the thing about working for Hell was that if you showed up too happy —  _ deep-down,  _ all-consuming  _ joyous _ , like Crowley was feeling  — certain people would want to know why. And certain others wouldn ’t — they’d just want you to stop, and would ensure it by any means necessary. 

Or any means that sounded like fun, really.

Crowley could often get away with an air of cocky cheerfulness, because most of his coworkers dismissed it as either bravado or . . . just him being a very weird demon. But he was fairly certain that the floaty feeling in his chest would make itself too easily known through his smile. Best to smother it under a good scowl. They always liked to see a scowl.

He slammed his quarterly report down into an overstuffed inbox before stalking over to the Eastern wall to check his own mailbox. Just the usual rubbish: threats of grievous-yet-uncreative bodily harm from Duke Hastur; pleas from a few damned souls he ’d recently introduced to The Bee Room, asking him once again, very nicely and flatteringly, if he could please transfer them out of The Bee Room (they were neo nazis, so no); a summons to an insensitivity training seminar . . . .

“Oi, Crowley.”

“Mnunh?” Crowley grumbled, setting fire to an advertisement for wing enhancement pills.

“Are you passing through the succubus division on your way out?”

“No.”

“Too bad, stop in there anyway.” Lord Dagon slapped a memo down on top of his other mail before retreating back behind her desk.

Crowley read over the memo, which wasn ’t for him, but nobody gave someone something to deliver in Hell without assuming by default that they would either read or defile it.

“ . . . They need a succubus in Heaven for a punishment?”

“Yes. Or, rather, the idiots upstairs just requested ‘a demon’. Figured only the succubi would be interested in the job,” she snorted.

“Why aren’t they sending whoever it is they’re punishing down here? Where the punishing happens?”

“They’re punishing an angel. Want make an example of ‘im. Easier to do that where everyone’s looking.”

“Why are we helping them?”

“Because it’s funny.”

Crowley shrugged. Fair enough.

“Any idea of the details?” 

A slow grin revealed each of Dagon ’s pointed teeth in sequence. “You’ll like this — it’s your ol’ nemesis they’re punishing.”

“What, Gabriel?”

Dagon ’s grin quickly disappeared, as her face pinched and crumpled in both confusion and annoyance. “No, idiot. Aziraphale, your adversary.”

Crowley went very quiet for a moment. Once he ’d had sufficient time to process, he asked, “What’s he in trouble for?”

“Lost his virginity.”

Crowley felt his heart drop.  “ . . . They track that?”

“Ever since the Nephilim Incident.”

“Do _we_ track that?”

“Fuck no.” Dagon shuddered. Crowley wasn’t sure whether she was squeamish about the fleshy aspect of the idea, or if it just sounded like far too much more paperwork than she would ever want to deal with.

“Why do they care if their angels are virgins?”

“They don’t, they just want to make sure they’re not going around impregnating things. Or themselves. Or, you know, messing about too much with inferior species. Apparently they think if an angel makes a human orgasm it could shatter their tiny minds or something. I mean, demon’s’ve been doing it since the Grigori got here, and in all that time we’ve only broken a dozen or so inconsequential humans that way. And most of those were very specific volunteer test subjects for the Antichrist breeding program. Eh, but I guess they don’t want the paperwork.” 

“So . . . they think he was messing about with a human?”

“Dunno, probably. Seemed to be the gist of things. It’s why they want a demon up there — to make him hate the thing he got in trouble for in the first place by humiliating him with it, and show all the other angels that that could be them, too, if they step out of line.” She snorted. “I suspect they’re trying to curb the number of angels they send our way. If they Fall too many of them, they’ll only inflate our numbers for the upcoming War. So they’re trying something new.”

Crowley was nodding along, his face blank behind his shades. He was quiet long enough that Dagon began to get back to her filing, before he spoke again. His voice had the edge of a growl in it.

“Send me.”

“What’s that?”

“Forget the succubi. I’ll go.”

“What, you?” She barked a laugh. “Why would you want anything to do with all that?”

“Because he’s my nemesis,” he hissed. “It’s my _job_ to humiliate him. Why _wouldn_ _’t_ you think to ask me first?”

“You realize the job is _fucking_ him, right?” She asked, very slowly. “Not _fighting_ him? Not outwitting him? You have to get in a room with him in front of a bunch of angels and—”

“And utterly demoralize and degrade him, yes. Not seeing a downside. Do I have the job?”

She looked him up and down, clearly a little grossed out, but didn ’t seem particularly suspicious of his motives. “All right, if that’s how you want to spend an afternoon, I suppose. Sign here.” With one last judgmental glance, she flopped a form on the desk in front of him, which he immediately stooped over to sign.

“ . . . With your _real name_ , idiot.”

“Right, yep. Habit.” He miracled away _Anthony J. Crowley_ and inscribed his sigil instead.

Dagon collected the form when he ’d finished, and gestured vaguely upward.

“All right, you’re set. Go on up. Give ‘em Hell and all that. Glad I’m not you.”

“Thanks. Don’t work too hard.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Crowley took his leave of Dagon ’s office, and then Hell itself. With every level he ascended on his way there, the world lightening all around him, his own mood darkened further.

He would indeed meet his nemesis in Heaven. And he would utterly mortify him. He just had to plan out exactly how he was going to do it.


End file.
